Everything Is Wrong
by BarbedWire
Summary: When faced with an impossible task, Draco finds comfort in everyone's favorite fruit. Set during Half-Blood-Prince and Deathly Hallows, a Drapple story. Mild swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! I recently read about Drapple and I thought it'd be totally fun to do, and may just be my favorite crack ship. I tried really hard to keep Draco mostly in character here, despite the obvious that he's falling for an apple. Other than that gaping out of character fact, I tried to justify it and keep him in character.  
>Reviews are awesome!<br>This is dedicated to Aryn, and Shelby. Aryn, because you suggested I write about Drapple, and Shelby, because I think you'd get a kick out of it.  
>Nope, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and I don't own Harry Potter.<br>Pancakes!**

Draco Malfoy was exhausted. He had spent nearly all day camped out in the Room of Requirement struggling to repair that damn vanishing cabinet, all to no avail. As the afternoon had worn on, and the cupboard had come no closer to working properly, he had been left feeling increasingly tired, hungry and discouraged. Who had he been kidding? He could not fix that cabinet, and even if he could, what made him think he would be able to sneak an army of Death Eaters into Hogwarts under the nose of Dumbledore?

He was tired of failing; his failed attempts to kill the Headmaster looked more ridiculous each time he recalled them. He was tired of the Dark Lord's task, tired of imagining his father in Azkaban and his mother at the Dark Lord's mercy. He was tired of Snape offering assistance only so that he might look better. He was tired of Potter beating him in potions, and stalking him to overhear his conversations. He was sick of the imbeciles he was surrounded by; Crabbe and Goyle blindly going along with everything he demanded of them, Pansy Parkinson staring at him like lovesick puppy dog. He was sick and tired of the world and everyone in it. He wanted to scream as loud as he could that he was done with all of them; that they could each and every one of them take their expectations and threats and bribes and guilt-trips and duty and shove them, he was through giving a damn.

But the voice of reason, or perhaps cowardice, always reminded him that the world did not work that way. He could not simply slip away from all the sphere of their eyes and words because he was sick of it. No, he must suffer through it. He must wake up each day and know that he, Draco Malfoy, would have to kill Albus Dumbledore. He must know that his father was in prison, and his mother completely vulnerable to the world. He could only sneer at Potter, and watch his back because he and Snape were always there following him. He would have to resent Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity and humor Pansy's infatuation quietly because it was what was expected of him. It was what he had been coerced by guilt and threats and bribes to do. It was his duty, no matter how sick of it he was.

There was only one thing which was Draco's constant comfort and companion through this bleak world. He had first brought the shiny green apple with him to the Room of Requirement in order to test the cabinet with it. When the cabinet had again failed, Draco had taken the apple in his hand, preparing to chuck it into the labyrinth of discarded junk as a means of releasing his anger. But as his fingers had closed around its glossy surface, he had found an odd comfort. He looked down at it. It looked just like every other apple he had ever seen. Its green skin was smooth and speckled with many spots of a darker hue. It was symmetrical in its proportions and its surface was unmarred by bruises. It just looked like an apple, but it was the most beautiful apple he had ever seen. He had always harbored a bit of a soft spot for apples, and as he stared down at this particular fruit he was seized with a sudden fondness.

Ever since that day, the apple had resided in the pocket of his robes. It was always with him, and he often reached his hand into his pocket to touch throughout the day. He was convinced now that Apple, which had become the name given to this one fruit rather than the whole species, was his only true friend in the world. Only Apple knew how much he suffered, how fed up he was with the world. It was to this silent, un-judging piece of fruit that Draco confided his discouragement. It was to Apple that he described his hopeless, bleak world. And Apple never said anything, which he was truthfully grateful for because he already had enough reasons to question his insanity. But it was alright that Apple remained silent. In fact, he suspected that that might be precisely why he had grown to love Apple the way he did. Apple may not be able to comfort him, but it also never asked anything of him. It did not use double edged words like 'duty' or 'your father'. It did not demand that he walk down one path, or seek to belittle him for its own good. It simply was, and that allowed Draco to simply be. To Apple he could put all his doubts into words. He could rant about Snape and Potter's meddling, he could show Apple the dark tattoo upon his left arm without fear of either losing his friend to fear or awe.

Apple was with him through it all, when he was alone in the night and could not suppress the tears, when he struggled to fix the cabinets, when he broke down screaming his hatred for his father and the Dark Lord and the world at large. Always Apple was with him, and it never thought any less of him. Not once did he fail to live up to that Apple's expectation of him. He was aware that loving an inanimate object the way he loved Apple was wrong. But it was so much less terrifying to offer his love to something that he could not fail. He was tired of failing, and Apple was the only thing he had ever known that would not sway in its opinion of him no matter how many times, or at what he failed. For that, he loved it, and that might have been wrong, but honestly nothing was right in Draco's life at the moment; being in love with an apple was the least of his worries.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hey! Do you all remember how I said this was a oneshot? Well, I lied. This is now going to be a multi-chaptered Drapple story.  
>This chapter is dedicated to Don'tBlink17 who left a really nice review on the first chapter, and who got me really interested in continuing Drapple through our PM conversation. So thank you, and this one is for you:)<br>This is still set in Half-Blood-Prince.  
>Enjoy!<strong>

Everything is Wrong  
>Chapter Two<p>

The sound of his stomping footsteps on the marble floor reverberated around the entire corridor, but Draco Malfoy was far too tired to be concerned with the din he was making. In fact, he was comforted by the sound; it served to remind him that he was still alive. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ His feet seemed to fall in time with his own heart. _Beat. Thump. Beat. Thump._ After spending all his time alone in the blasted Room of Requirement, it was easy to forget that he was still among the living, and not merely a ghost or memory of himself.

As he passed the Great Hall, the open doors revealed to him that the feast was still underway, though only a few people were still eating. Crabbe and Goyle would be in there no doubt, still pigging out. He paused for a moment in the doorway. Perhaps he should go in and get some food, he hadn't eaten all day after all. Draco was still deliberating on the threshold when he noticed a pair of black eyes watching him intently from the staff table. Damn Severus Snape. Draco could see exactly what the potions master wanted in his cold stare. He might offer it as assistance, but Draco knew better. He knew that all it was another chance for Snape to prove to the Dark Lord that he was a better servant than all of the Malfoys. Well, Draco would not give him that chance. He was not bound to failure, he could yet prove his worth and in so doing redeem his parents and restore to the name of Malfoy the respect and fear to which it was due. No dirty spy was going to take this golden opportunity from him.

Turning away from Snape's meddling gaze and the inviting smell of the feast, Draco continued along down to the Slytherin common room. He did not want food so much as silence, and though he had been alone all day he craved the presence of only one. To that end, he passed quickly through the green lighted common room. Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson, who were sitting upon the leather couches, called out to him as he passed, but he did not even offer them an excuse. He was Draco goddamn Malfoy after all. He did not need to explain himself to those simpletons, what he did was his own business.

The solitude of his dorm could not have come soon enough. It was a relief beyond words when he sank gratefully down onto his green and silver bedspread. Ever so gently, he reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a green apple. He smiled for the first time all day as his eyes fell upon Apple. Though Apple had been flawless and blemish free when at first he had seen it, its time in his pockets was beginning to take a toll on his dearest friend. A large bruise had formed, the skin slightly indented over the imperfection. Its skin, once so taut and smooth was now slightly wrinkled. Fruit, he reminded himself, did not last forever; it was to this painful truth that he could not yet resign himself: Apple was going to rot. It was inevitable, one day it would simply turn to mush inside his pocket, leaving behind only a sticky stain and the putridly sweet scent of overripe fruit.

"Oh Apple," he muttered despondently, pulling the once perfect fruit to his chest. "I can't lose you."

As usual, Apple remained silent. For once he wished that Apple could reply, if only to offer him some words of comfort that would alleviate his guilt. 'It isn't your fault Draco,' oh how he would love to hear those words from his friend. He sternly reminded himself that apples should not be talking, and he ought to be grateful that he had not completely lost his mind.

"I can't face the world alone Apple." What was he thinking? Pleading with Apple? As if it had any choice in whether or not it rotted? As if by simply knowing that Draco loved it, it could somehow avoid the course of nature? Perhaps he had lost his mind. He held Apple tighter and rolled over onto his side. His wand was still in the pocket of his robes, and it was not very comfortable to lie on. Closing his eyes, Draco ignored the discomfort and enjoyed the company of Apple. Even when he was not speaking to it, Apple somehow managed to remove the stresses of his life.

"It's so hopeless, Apple." Apple said nothing as Draco began his story of the day's events the same way he always did. "I spent all day staring at the cupboard and I didn't make any progress. He's going to kill me, because I am going to fail. I'm going to fail and he is going to kill me and Mother, and there is no way I can stop it. I'm trying as hard as I can, but I can't do it!"

He had never been ashamed of his fears with Apple, and he was not now, even as the tears stung his eyes. "And you can't be here for me Apple! You're going to rot, and then what? Then I'll be alone and there is no way that I can do it-" he stopped speaking abruptly. The wand stabbing into his side had just given him an idea.

Setting Apple down lovingly upon his pillow, he stood up and walked over to the foot of his bed. It took him several moments of rummaging before he found what he was looking for. It was the only one of his old spell books he had brought with him to school this year. He had brought it because of its information on vanishing spells, which he thought might help him in his quest to repair the cupboard. But it was not the vanishing spells that he cared about now, it was a spell that he only half remembered reading about.

It took a moment to find it, but there it was _Putescio: to prevent rot._ He read the instructions through several times, it seemed simple enough. He picked Apple up off of his pillow, and pointed his wand at it.

"Putescio." He whispered, a bright yellow light enveloped Apple as it sat motionless on his palm. The bruise that had been etched upon its side disappeared. The wrinkles in its skin disappeared and it was once more smooth and green and, like new once more.

He held Apple up to his face, and gently placed his lips upon its newly perfected surface.

"I love you Apple," he whispered


End file.
